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All
Saints, Crostwight

It was getting on towards late
afternoon, and Tom and I were nearing the end of a
successful day's church exploring in the extreme
north-east of Norfolk. Virtually every church up here is
kept open every day, and those which aren't are willingly
opened by their caring churchwardens. There is a real
impression in this part of Norfolk of churches held by
the communites to be more than mere worship spaces, but
sacramental structures, folk museums and touchstones down
the long generations. I liked them all a lot.

We had
visited everywhere we'd planned, but there was still an
hour or so of daylight left. Suddenly, off in the fields
to the left, I saw a long, low structure with a truncated
roof. I looked on the map to see that it was the parish
church of Crostwight, although there appeared to be no
village, hardly any houses even. From the map I could see
that there was an old rectory about a quarter a mile from
the church, beside the lane, but even in early Spring it
was so tree-surrounded as to be barely visible until we
actually reached it.

"Five
pounds says it's locked", warned Tom, risking his
exhaust by driving up to the graveyard along an old
track. And he was right, but the key was back at the old
rectory, where the keyholder was very friendly and
welcoming. As I wandered back up to the church, I looked
at the curious low tower. It was taken down in 1910,
after a covering of ivy had made it unsafe. The bells
were rehung lower down.

We
unlocked the door, and stepped inside. An ancient space.
A wide nave; pale, rustic, full of creamy light. A
medieval screen, golden in the afternoon shadows. And
then, treasure. This is the best kind of discovery - late
in the day, unexpected, unsought. For All Saints has one
of the most extensive schemes of late medieval
wall-paintings in East Anglia. I hadn't even known about
them.

It runs
along the north wall, and probably dates from the later
part of the 14th century, perhaps the early 15th. The
scheme is essentially doctrinal in nature, part of the
enforcement of Catholic orthodoxy at that time in the
face of local superstitions, perhaps as a response to the
effects of the Black Death.

The
Passion sequence of wall-paintings is the most
remarkable. It runs at three levels on the north wall of
the nave between the two windows. The arrangement is
rather complex, and several of the panels are hard to
decipher, so I have numbered the sequence on the large
photograph immediately below. If you click on it, you can
see it enlarged. Below it, the individual panels are
organised in thumbnail form. If you click on any of them,
you will see that panel enlarged.

The
sequence starts in the middle level, works towards the
centre, goes up to the top level and then the bottom
level:

1: The entrance of Christ into
Jerusalem. Overall, this is the largest panel,
drawing the eye to the start.
2: Christ washes the feet of his disciples.
3: The Last Supper - Christ in the
centre, John on his right. Little remains of this panel.
4: Christ prays in the Garden of Gethsemane.
Perhaps the most haunting panel, in a window splay.
5: Christ is arraigned before Pilate.
6: The scourging of Christ. The top half
of the bound Christ is missing.
7: The Crucifixion. Christ is crucified,
a thief on each side of him. Below, Mary weeps, Longinus
pierces his side, another soldier offers him vinegar on a
reed. At the foot of this panel is the Crowning
with Thorns.
8: The Deposition. Christ's naked body
is laid out - curiously, this panel is arranged awkwardly
above the window.
9: The Resurrection. Completely lost,
but it must be at this place in the sequence where the
blank wall is.
10: The Acension into Heaven. The
familiar iconography of Mary and the Disciples looking up
at the ascending feet of Christ (the feet are now lost)
11?:Although the wall is blank to the east of the
Ascension image, there is space for one more panel, which
may be Christ sitting at the right hand of the
Father, or possibly the day of Pentecost.

The entrance
of Christ into Jerusalem

Christ washes the feet of his disciples

The Last Supper - Christ in the centre, John on
his right

Christ prays in the Garden of Gethsemane

Christ is arraigned before Pilate

The scourging of Christ

At the foot of the Crucifixion panel: Christ has
a crown of thorns placed on his head.

Christ is crucified, a thief on each side of him.
Below, Mary weeps, Longinus pierces his side,
another soldier offers him vinegar on a reed.

Detail of the Crucifixion.

The Deposition
of Christ

The Resurrection - missing.

The Ascension. Mary and the Disciples look
upwards as Christ ascends into Heaven

There are
more wall-paintings to the west of the window. These are
also fascinating. At the extreme west is a depiction of
the Seven Deadly Sins - a tree grows out of the jaws of
hell (represented by the mouth of a giant fish) and the
sins grow on it as fruit. The jaws are full of sinners,
being pushed down into hell by a devil.

To the
right of this is a very curious painting. It appears to
show two women being welcomed by an angel at the gates of
Heaven, with what may be a devil low down looking on.
Pevsner thought it was a warning against gossip as at Seething, but I don't think
this can be right. Anne Marshall, of the Painted Church
site, suggests that it is similar to a painting
at Swanbourne in Buckinghamshire, which depicts the
allegory of the penitent and unpenitent souls.

Immediately
to the right of this is a much more familiar image, St
Christopher. Finally, an unidentified Saint, a scroll
above his head.

The screen
is a gorgeous chestnut brown, but I was not entirely
convinced it is as original as it appears. The carving in
the spandrels in particular, while fascinating, depicting
dragons, wild men, flying hearts and the like, does
appear to be modern, at best recut. And, curiously, while
the chancel arch itself retains extensive painted
decoration, there is none on the screen at all.

As with
many churches around here, All Saints has an octagonal
Purbeck font reset on collonaded pillars. This one is in
very poor condition, and must have spent a long period
out of doors at some point. But its worn and fractured
faces somehow add to the atmosphere here. This is a
simple, rural church in a tiny parish - barely 700 acres,
and certainly no more than a hundred people. It sits a
quarter of a mile from the nearest road and from the
nearest house. There is no electricity. It has, in modern
eyes, no real reason for existing anymore. But it is
well-kept, used regularly, and obviously much loved.

Hubert
Arthur Francis was the only man from the parish to die in
World War Two. Today, he has a memorial as grand as any
you'd find for Lords of the Manor. And beneath it, his
photograph in a simple frame. Still remembered. That, for
me, made it all the more special.